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Archive for the month “December, 2014”


(With apologies to Margaret Wise Brown)

In the year gone by,

There was a Manson marriage

And a polar vortex

And a picture of –

Olympic athletes jumping over the moon

And there was a bid for Scottish independence

And no extra Olive Garden breadsticks

But we got a free U2 album

(Much to our dismay. Weirdly.)

 And too many shootings

And too many hostages

 And legal pot and ebola and Kim K’s oiled-up tush

And huge CVS pharmacy told smokers to “hush”

 Goodnight Seth Rogan’s “The Interview”

Goodnight Robin Williams

 Good night Arthur “Rudolph/Frosty/Santa Claus” Rankin and Larry “Yukon Cornelius” Mann

 Goodnight Tom “Car Talk” Magliozzi

And Russell “The Professor” Johnson

Goodnight Pete Seeger

Goodnight Ukraine

 Goodnight Norman “Clifford” Bridwell

And goodnight Japanese whale hunting

 Goodnight Heartbleed Internet bug

And goodnight Gabriel Garcia Marquez

 Goodnight Harold Ramis

 And goodnight Rubin “Hurricane” Carter 

Goodnight Ladies’ Home Journal

 And goodnight NFL player scandals

Goodnight nobody

 Goodnight depressing news mush

 And goodnight to the US

Telling Cuba to “hush”

 Goodnight stars

 Goodnight air

 Goodnight noises everywhere

 *Phew* 2015 better not be so…challenging, lest we develop a global drinking problem.




The fire is slowly dying. You got your Christmas goose. The mistletoe has wilted. The figgy hs fizzled in the pudding.

The frenzied orgy that is modern Christmas is over.

Let the post-holiday letdown begin.

And what better time to think about your yuletide regrets than when you’re feeling low?

Have a blue Christmas, indeed. I’ll have a blue, blue, blue blog post…

I’m sorry I spent all that time trying to figure out how to wrap a stack of paper in wrapping paper. Mind. Blown.

I’m sorry “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians” got off scott-free, while Seth Rogan had to watch “The Interview” get shoved into some Sony executive’s junk drawer.

I’m sorry Peace on Earth is such an elusive little shit.

I’m sorry hanging up Christmas underwear never caught on. Where will I put my yule log?

I’m sorry for that last joke. That was uncalled for and in poor taste.

Like Christmas sweaters.

That joke is more like it.

I’m sorry science hasn’t advanced to the point they can reanimate Bing Crosby to sing “White Christmas” just one more time.

I’m sorry my wife won’t let me shake Christmas packages to try and guess what’s in them. Seriously, who – besides her – doesn’t shake Christmas packages?

I’m sorry for the way the elves in the Hobbit movie behaved. That was very un-Christmas-like.

I’m sorry egg nog tastes exactly like it sounds.

I’m sorry they don’t make movies like the Allister Sim version of “A Christmas Carol” anymore.

I’m sorry a bow on a big box is considered festive, but  a bow on a pile of dog poop is just disgusting.

I’m sorry my idea to have Funions and Mt. Dew for Christmas dinner was laughed at. I thought this was the season of goodwill.

I’m sorry when we finally had dinner, it was late. I thought having the goose and the turkey fight to the death first would be more fun. Excuse me for trying to entertain you.

I’m sorry Santa at the last cookie. And by “Santa”, I mean me. And by “I’m sorry”, I mean I’m not sorry.

I’m sorry that instead of going door-to-door to sing Christmas carols, more people don’t go to door giving out cheesecake.

I’m sorry Bob & Doug McKenzie’s “Twelve Days of Christmas” doesn’t get nearly as much as radio play as Perry Como’s “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”

I’m sorry

I’m sorry this is my new jam:



This guy…

This guy is awesome.

He’s been under my Christmas tree every year of my life. And then some. I don’t know how long he’s been in the family. The family isn’t really even sure where he came from. I read once about these kind of Santa dolls maybe having originated in department store holiday displays in the fifties or sixties. That would make sense. Dad managed a Sears store for, like, forever.

Wherever he came from, he’s a link to Christmas Past, Present, and Future. As a kid, placing him under the tree marked the completion of the holiday decorating ritual. Every single year, even when the rest of the family, frankly was tired of him. And today, he’s a link to Christmas long gone.

Back in the day, decorating the Christmas tree was an all day affair. When I was really little, I’d make a fort out of the Christmas tree box (yes, we usually went artificial). When I got older, I’d be in charge of dragging the decorations up from the basement while Mom and Dad went out for breakfast. I was more interested in twinkle lights than eggs over easy. And year after year, my primary job was to untangle the strings of lights and replace any burned out bulbs.

The crap jobs of holiday decorating. But I couldn’t wait to do it every year. Some years the tree was up by Thanksgiving. One year, I think we even had twotrees.

On tree decorating day , there was Christmas music on the huge-ass console stereo. Or sometimes a football game on the black and white TV dragged Into the living room for the occasion. The scent of popcorn mingled with the musty-but-pleasing scent of unpacked holiday candles and old, time-worn decorations.

The tree goes up. Dad masterfully strings the lights. A string of garland. Maybe some tinsel (a relic of a bygone era – the cats would eat it if we tried to use it now) and finally, as twilight sets in outside, the ornaments go on. Lots of them. Finally, the step stool comes out and Dad puts the star atop the tree.

Oh, Christmas tree indeed.

Then, for the next several weeks, most evenings before dinner, you’d find me In the darkened living room, save for the tree lights, lying beneath the tree, staring up between the branches at the twinkle light playing off the ornaments while Christmas music played on that giant stereo and a poodle sat at my feet.

The tree my family has now doesn’t have enough clearance at the bottom to lay under it. I regret that. We put up great trees and a lot of our ornaments are cool and the trees now are the ones I’ve created with my own family and all that. But nothing can completely replace those trees from when I was a kid.

But Santa still shows up every year.

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